A Good Kind of Burn
by oldschoollover
Summary: It is the 8th anniversary of Helen Burns' death and Mr. Rochester notices Jane is distracted. When I wrote this, I was thinking of the 1983 version, but any version works.


**Hope you enjoy!**

Jane woke up on morning, feeling very sad. She remembered that today marked the eighth anniversary of Helen's death. She still remembered her friend, how pretty she was, how Mr. Brocklehurst had cut both their hair as punishment. She remembered all of the things Helen had told her and all the debates they'd had about standing up to authority. She sighed. Today was going to be a long day.

She dressed and went down to breakfast, thinking about Helen, how she smiled, how her friend had made her laugh. And how she'd woken up to find Helen's glassy eyes staring at her-

Jane crashed into something solid, "Oh, I'm sorry," she said, casting her eyes down and continuing on her way.

"Jane?" She turned back then and saw that she had walked into Mr. Rochester.

"Oh, sir, my apologies," she said, bowing.

"Ho ho, this is why we fired all of our governesses, as I was telling you last night. They are nothing but trouble!" said Miss Ingram, sneering at her.

"Hm. Let us go, Lady Blanche. We don't want to make the horses wait," said Mr. Rochester and, giving her one last look, departed with his fiancé, laughing gaily. Jane sighed and continued with her day.

-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-

All day, Jane was distracted. She tried to go through her day normally, but she would mess up her teachings to Adele so badly, her student would have to correct her. She and Mrs. Fairfax both asked her if something was wrong, but she just shook her head and forced smiles. Eventually though, she focused enough to get through Adele's lessons.

Afterwards, Jane went out to the field with Adele for a walk. Her pupil eventually saw a rabbit and chased after it happily, laughing, shouting, "Come with me, Mademoiselle! " and in that moment, Adele's short, brown hair was replaced with long, red hair, that caught the glint of the sunlight. She remembered sketching that hair and jealously wishing she had hair like that. But then she blinked and realized that her student was quickly running away from her, so she chased after her, warning her to be careful.

"Oh, Mademoiselle, Lady Blanche and Monsieur Rochester have returned!" she shouted excitedly, pointing towards the entrance of Thornfield where they were laughing happily. "Oh, I can't wait for the party tonight!" The party! Jane internally groaned. It was only yesterday that she'd left the party early, almost in tears, and now it was the anniversary of her friend's death, how was she supposed to survive tonight? She then decided she would bring her sketch pad. Maybe drawing something will calm her.

"Let us go, Adele, we need to eat and prepare ourselves for the festivities tonight," and with that, they set off.

-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-

After dinner, Jane dressed in her best dress, the one she'd worn for Miss Temple's wedding. She remembered how much she and Helen had loved Miss Temple, being the only nice adult there. Jane sighed, grabbed her sketch pad and pencil, and made her way downstairs into the drawing room.

She sat in her window seat again, making sure Adele was close by. Luckily, Sophie was here again tonight, so she was relieved from her duties. She settled herself in comfortably, remembering her cousin, John, who'd hit her with the book she'd been reading. She'd only been sent to Lowood because her aunt and Mr. Brocklehurst thought she was a liar. She supposed, in a way, she had to thank her aunt. After all, if she hadn't been sent to Lowood, she'd have never met Helen. Jane sighed, thinking about drawing Helen. Perhaps it would relieve her sorrows.

"Oh, look who it is again, that _governess_! Can we ever get away from her? I say, Mr. Rochester, she's not even paying attention to that little girl!" cried Miss Ingram.

"The girl is being reasonably occupied at the moment, therefore, the governess can do as she pleases here." he replied, gruffly. But Jane hardly heard this exchange. She was busily sketching Helen, the shape of her face, her eyes, her smile. Helen always had the prettiest smile. She remembered when Mr. Brocklehurst made her stand on the stool all day for being a supposed liar.

"_Children, I exalt you to withhold the hand of friendship to Jane Eyre."_

And yet, Helen didn't listen. She had walked up to Jane late at night and given her bread from dinner. Then they'd smiled at each other, and Jane knew they'd be friends.

But then, typhoid fever had taken hold of her. Jane remembered worrying over her friend and praying that she'd be well again. She remembered climbing into her bed that last night, tearing up, while her friend simply smiled at her and said, "I'm going home." She'd coughed a lot that night, so they'd held hands and Jane had promised not to leave her that night. But lo and behold, when she woke up that day, she'd found that her friend had left _her_. She had gone home. She was only thirteen.

After her death, Jane had thrown herself into her studies as a distraction, consequently becoming a teacher at an early age, having pleasant conversation with Miss Temple. Jane supposed the reason why Helen's death had affected her so greatly was because she was her only friend she'd ever made. Sure, she'd be pleasant with the other girls, but one girl did not without the hand of friendship to her, and that girl was Helen Burns…

Jane continued sketching, sketching her long, wavy hair. Why did Helen always want to deal with authority? Authority was cruel and uncaring. Yet Helen had always smiled, thinking that it wasn't the worst thing out there. She remembered all those conversations by the bushes in the field during those brief recesses. She remembered how much she'd admired Helen, and how mature she was, and only three years older than herself. Jane could never imagined being submissive and docile when it came to John, his sisters, and Aunt Reed, though his sisters weren't too bad in comparison.

She remembered how Bessie was the only person she'd missed from Gateshead, the only one who'd had compassion for her when she was locked in that dreadful Red Room. Jane remembered the feeling of it being haunted by ghosts, perhaps her father and mother's ghosts. They had gotten ill, just like Helen had. They had left her, just like Helen had-

"Jane," said a voice. She nearly jumped out of her skin, gasping and throwing her pencil near one of the chairs in her surprise. She looked up and saw Mr. Rochester, looking at her worriedly. She looked around. No one was there.

"Where is everyone?" she asked, "Adele!" she shouted, jumping up, flinging her sketch pad on the seat, finally coming back to the present, "Where is Adele?! She needs to go to bed-!"

"Calm down, Miss Eyre," he said, slightly laughingly, grabbing her arms gently, "I had Mrs. Fairfax take her upstairs."

"Where are your guests? Where is Miss Ingram?" she asked, looking around.

"They have just left, having complained of tiredness. I have sent them off to bed."

Jane was at a loss for words. How had time passed so quickly? She looked up at him, "I'm sorry, sir, it won't happen again!" Mr. Rochester eyed her for a moment, then released her, walking over to her thrown pencil and picking it up.

"You were drawing," he said, adopting his tone of command that he'd had when they'd first met, "Show me," he said, sitting in an armchair. Reluctantly, Jane picked up her finished drawing of her friend and brought it over to him.

"Sit," he said, pointing to a wooden chair in front of him. Jane sat carefully, as if the chair might break. Mr. Rochester examined her sketch.

"So," he began, "is this the culprit of your musings today? You've really had the look of another world today. Who is she?"

"She is a friend, sir."

"From Lowood, perhaps?"

"Yes, sir."

"She certainly seems happy. Could that have been because she was your friend, Miss Eyre?"

"I don't know, sir."

"Hmm," he mused. He looked at her now, "And who is she that she claims all of your attention today?"

"She is a friend, sir." Jane lowered her eyes to the sketch. She'd done a pretty good job, but she'd never be able to do the sketch justice. It wasn't just her looks, it was her personality. She was warm, and good-hearted-

"There, your eyes glaze over again, like before!" he exclaimed. Jane barely managed not to jump, and looked up at him.

"Did she teach at Lowood like you did before you arrived here?"

"No, sir." She really didn't want to go into this. She'd never told anyone about her friend.

"Well, perhaps she continued to study, or maybe sought a position elsewhere."

"Yes, sir."

"Yes, I am correct? What the deuce do you mean by that reply?"

"I do not mean anything in particular, sir."

"Hmm," he said again. Jane could tell he was becoming frustrated with her lack of response. He looked down at the sketch once more.

"She's a very pretty girl, is she not, Jane?"

"I always thought so, sir."

"Surely, a girl with looks such as these can go far in life."

"Yes, sir."

"She appears young in this picture."

"She was too young, sir," she replied, then cursed herself.

"_Too_ young? What the deuce do you mean by that statement? You were only ten years of age when you attended Lowood. Surely, she was around your age, as well?"

"She was not fourteen, sir."

"Ah, so she was older than you! So, arithmetic tells me she must be one and twenty, based off of your own age!"

"That would be so, sir," she replied. Yes, that _would_ be so, wouldn't it?

"Then, why draw her in this young form, and not her older self? Surely, a friend that claims your attention thus must be one you visit frequently."

"She has none, sir."

He turned to look at her then and raised an eyebrow.

"No older form?"

"Yes, sir."

"Where is she now?"

"In heaven, sir."

His eyes softened, "Ah, so the truth comes out at last!"

Jane said nothing. She cast her eyes down towards the sketch once more, looking into Helen's sketched eyes.

"Did she pass on during school?"

"Yes, sir," she said, looking up at him, "Typhoid fever. And today-" she began, but she cut herself off, finding herself suddenly interested in the fireplace.

"Ah, I see," he said, his voice becoming slightly softer. Jane looked back at him. He was looking at her in a way she could not comprehend.

"You did not have many friends at school, Jane?"

"No, sir. Only her."

"Ah," he said, softly. There was a pause. "What was her name?"

"Helen, sir," Jane said, softly, "Helen Burns."

"Hmm, it seems like Miss Burns has burned you, even after the passing years."

"But it is a good kind of burn, sir."

He smiled softly, "Yes, I suppose it is, Miss Eyre." He handed the sketch back to her, along with her pencil.

"See that you are properly rested for tomorrow. Adele's lessons should continue as normal."

"Yes, sir. Good night, sir." She made to stand, but Mr. Rochester leaned forward, and began speaking softly,

"Do take care of yourself, Miss Eyre. It will not do if you make yourself ill over your troubles. Remember, you have friends here that you can confide in."

"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir." He smiled softly. "Good night then, Miss Eyre."

"Good night, sir," she replied, taking her things and quitting the room, wondering over her new friends at Thornfield, and realizing that things have changed, that she wasn't alone anymore. She was home.


End file.
